


I Play My Part

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: The Light that Shows the Way (a 13 Ghosts Slice-of-Life Series) [4]
Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types, The 13 Ghosts of Scooby-Doo (Cartoon)
Genre: Even though he is absolutely in Dad Mode in this one, Found Family, Gen, Slice of Life, Vincent is the Team Dad; he just doesn't realize it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: [Original 13 Ghosts 'verse, based on episode 7] It's the aftermath of a close call and a highly unpleasant experience for Vincent, but, somehow, there's something that takes greater priority than his own woes at the moment.
Series: The Light that Shows the Way (a 13 Ghosts Slice-of-Life Series) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124471
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	I Play My Part

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is based on episode 7. I chose today to post it as Valentine’s Day is technically when it takes place; Mardi Gras is almost always in February—on the rare occasions it’s in March, it’s always the first week, so for the episode to take place the Friday the 13th before Mardi Gras, Nekara’s failed kiss at midnight means that Vincent captured her back in the Chest on the 14th—Valentine’s Day. …It’s what she deserves.  
> Additional side note: the only year in recent history that Mardi Gras immediately follows a Friday the 13th is 2015—meaning that the majority of 13 Ghosts takes place in 2015, despite airing 30 years prior in 1985 (I don’t think that’s far-fetched, honestly, as in the previous series, _The New Scooby-Doo Mysteries_ , Scrappy was using what can only be described as a Smart Watch in a couple of the episodes), so for the purposes of my timeline, that’s when the series takes place.
> 
> Additionally, I know this fic doesn’t give much for Scooby, Scrappy, or Flim-Flam to do, but given the nature of what Nekara did and tried to do, Scrappy and Flim-Flam are way too young to fully grasp the underlying implications of what she did, and Scooby doesn’t seem to be too knowledgeable of human relations to understand, either (case in point, in the episode, when Nekara forced a kiss on Voudini, Scooby wasn’t interested in the “mushy stuff,” but Shaggy was the one looking on in horror), so this particular one focuses on mainly Vincent, Shaggy, and Daphne. Also, the loose end I wrote regarding the aftereffects of Maldor’s sleeping curse will be resolved in another piece.

Never again would Vincent ask what was the worst that could happen, even in jest. The last 24 hours had ended up being a truly horrible experience. And it wasn’t quite over just yet, if the growing headache he was feeling was any indication. He scowled at how bright the streetlights were and raised his cape to try to shield himself from them, ignoring the reveling crowd of mortals around him celebrating both the upcoming Mardi Gras, as well as Valentine’s Day. He cast a derisive glance at a young, costumed couple blocking his way while locked in a passionate kiss, let out an exasperated grunt, and went around them, making his way back towards the hotel. He’d had enough of kisses and romance after that horrible day…

But it hadn’t started out horribly, however; the meeting of the Order had gone perfectly according to plan that morning, and his group of youngsters were clearly enjoying themselves—and, Vincent recalled with some amount of pride, cheering like mad as he’d accepted his award as Warlock of the Year. And, of course, he’d introduced Voudini to them, as his old friend had requested.

But then, Nekara had shown up. Vincent had remembered her all too well; she’d initially tried to hide that she was one of the 13 Ghosts when she’d asked to travel with him and Mortifer all those years ago. They’d initially refused, having read warnings of a descendant of the Gorgons who could bewitch warlocks and drain their mana, and suspecting that she was the one. But she had persisted, insisting that it couldn’t possibly be her (“How _could_ it be me, Vinny, Darling; do I have snakes for hair?” she had flirted), and Mortifer had thought to test her by pretending to be a warlock.

She had taken the bait, aiming to drain him first, only to be revealed for what she truly was once she’d finally assumed her snake-haired form; failing to entrance Mortifer, she’d rounded on Vincent after that, very briefly putting him under her love spell, only for her to be captured soon after. And that had ended that… until she’d shown up at the meeting the previous day.

The youngsters hadn’t known about Nekara—Vincent hadn’t expected her to show up here, of all places, and he hadn’t had the chance to warn them about her. And, indeed, when he’d finally noticed her, all of those bad memories had crashed back into his consciousness, and he had obeyed his first instinct—to run.

And then, after entrancing the entire crowd of warlocks and draining Voudini’s mana, she’d hunted Vincent down next—tricked him by imitating Scooby’s voice to get him to lower his guard… He’d tried so hard to avoid eye contact with her once she’d forced her way into his room, and he’d nearly succeeded—if it hadn’t been for that blasted mirror…

Being under her love spell had been… dangerously blissful. He’d known no fear; even knowing her desire to drain his mana with her kiss, he’d still felt compelled to do as she wished, and she was enjoying utterly toying with him every step of the way, while he could only recall feeling comfortably numb, even during those moments when she had been giving him those taunting caresses…

Vincent shuddered involuntarily now at the very memory of it.

It had also been extremely unsettling how he hadn’t resisted her control—for the most part. It had only been after the first time the gang had gotten him away from her, just after he’d proposed to her (or, rather, been compelled to propose to her) that he’d shown any resistance—she had been trying to control him telepathically, urging him to use his powers against the others and come back to her.

But, even controlled, he couldn’t; he simply couldn’t turn against his apprentices—the ones with whom he had shared meals and adventures, and had invited to stay under his roof. The youngsters had dutifully stood guard over him, blissfully unaware of Nekara’s attempts to turn Vincent’s sheer power against them. When it became clear that Vincent could not be pushed that far and that she was running out of time, she had switched tactics, summoning an army of ghosts to merely spirit him away instead.

Nekara had been determined to drag it out, for she had wanted a courtship and a wedding; it seemed that she did indeed have _some_ kind of twisted yearning towards him—some sort of possessive, cruel desire. Vincent didn’t know what it was—he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. But, whatever it was, it _wasn’t_ True Love.

Mage society didn’t take love lightly; True Love had long been touted in tales of old as the most powerful and noble source of magic for a reason, and mage society knew it to be real—a powerful magic that manifested in many different forms (romantic, platonic, and familial), and did not even need mana to cast or activate. Conversely, False Love was wicked and dangerous, and it was a miracle that Vincent hadn’t suffered the full extent of Nekara’s False Love.

 _…No. Not a miracle_ , he reminded himself.

Those youngsters had saved him—without a scrap of mana in their veins, they hadn’t even given a second thought to putting themselves on the line to save him from an enchantress who could have subjected them to all kinds of terrible fates—including her attempt at trying to get him to attack them. But, even on her own, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was 1/16 a Gorgon—though she couldn’t turn people to stone like her great-great grandmother Medusa, her snake-haired form could still paralyze anyone she made eye contact with, regardless of what day it was; Mortifer had learned that the hard way, but it had been seeing his companion in such a state that had allowed Vincent to break free of Nekara’s love spell the first time, break the curse on Mortifer, and then proceed to capture her, much to her shock. No wonder she had been so relentless this time…

Regardless, the youngsters had also been on the verge of breaking the love spell on him last night, as well—pretending to be his family had been a clever ploy, and it probably would have worked had Nekara not put a stop to it and had her bridal party take them captive.

Their subsequent cries of fright, however… They had pierced Vincent to the core; even as Nekara dragged him back to the altar, Vincent had been looking back at _them_ , not her, and, somewhere, deep in his consciousness, just as he’d resisted attacking them on her orders earlier, he was attempting again to fight and break free…

But then, the clock had struck midnight, anyway, and with it no longer being Friday the 13th, her love spell had broken, and her draining kiss had also been rendered just as powerless (though it hadn’t stopped her from trying, much to Vincent’s disgust), allowing Vincent to capture her and her entire bridal party in the Chest of Demons—a Valentine’s Day fate befitting one who thrived off of False Love.

The gang had been thrilled and relieved, and ready to celebrate with him as they usually did, but the other warlocks, also freed from the love spell, had awakened from their trances to have seen Vincent capture Nekara and company—they’d had no idea of the role those mortal youngsters had played, and the gang willingly eschewed the credit, allowing Vincent to be praised as the hero who had saved the Order once again.

The other warlocks had ushered Vincent away to celebrate. He hadn’t seen where the youngsters had gone, but before he could track them down, they’d managed to get word to him via another one of the warlocks that Voudini had been drained of all of his mana, and that, subsequently, his life was in danger. A slight mana transfer had given enough for Voudini to keep going—and all it cost Vincent was a few more gray hairs that were barely noticeable among his already-grayed temples (a side effect of having transferred mana to Mortifer multiple times in the past to extend his life).

After saving Voudini, however… most of the remainder of the night was a blur. Several of the other warlocks had insisted on buying drinks for Vincent to thank him for saving them from Nekara. The last coherent memory of the night that Vincent had was a group of some of the other warlocks (led by the burly warlock Flim-Flam had dubbed “Frank”) drinking a toast to Vincent in some mortal-owned establishment as, ironically enough, Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” played over the speakers. Vincent had only recognized the song on account of the number of times he’d heard the youngsters listening to it in the castle, and he remembered thinking how apt it was that the song was playing now after everything Nekara had put him through…

…And, now, somehow, here he was, back at the hotel now that it was just before daybreak, with the start of what was, undoubtedly, a hangover.

He made it back to his room, quickly abandoning his search for his room key and just opening the door via magic; he paused as he noticed that Scooby was curled up on a corner at the foot of his bed, sound asleep. Scrappy had claimed the other corner of the foot of the bed, and Flim-Flam had fallen asleep on the pillows at the head of the bed. There was still a gaping hole in the ceiling from where Nekara’s army of ghosts had invaded earlier, but, wrapped up in blankets, the sleepers were oblivious to the chill of the early morning air.

Vincent massaged the bridge of his nose. He hated to have to wake them, but with his headache, he was in desperate need of rest.

“Vincent?”

Distracted, he looked to an armchair, where Voudini was sitting, also wrapped up in a few blankets.

“What are you doing here?” Vincent asked, quietly, so as not to disturb the others.

“I was trying to get in touch with you after you’d gone with the crowd—alas, it would appear that my palantír is now useless, as I no longer have any mana. But I hoped you would return here eventually.”

“And here I am.”

“…Yes, and you look terrible,” Voudini stated, bluntly.

“You went through far worse,” Vincent returned.

“That’s debatable; Nekara may have stolen my mana, but she then left me alone. She was far more intent on dragging it out with you; it wasn’t just going after your mana—it was obsession,” Voudini frowned. “At any rate, thank the Goddess for those mortals.”

“Yes,” Vincent sighed, glancing back at the slumbering trio on the bed. “The five of them were really…” He trailed off as something finally clicked in regards to the numbers not adding up, and he did a quick headcount. “One… two… three— _where are Daphne and Shaggy_!?”

“They’ve been out since two in the morning; I believe they were last heading towards Bourbon Street—”

“Bourbon Street—at _this_ hour!?” Vincent exclaimed. It was barely 5:00 AM, and it was still dark outside—certainly _not_ the time or place for two young adults to be wandering about. “In the middle of Mardi Gras—and leaving Flim-Flam and the dogs to fend for themselves!? I thought those two were more intelligent than that! Of all the reckless, foolish—!”

“Vincent, wait! They were…” Voudini trailed off as Vincent teleported. “…Looking for _you_ ,” he finished, to no one in particular.

********************************

Vincent soon teleported amongst the reveling crowd on Bourbon Street; the revelers were loud and drunk—they certainly weren’t doing Vincent’s headache any favors. He winced, but pressed onwards, trying to triangulate Shaggy and Daphne’s location with his crystal, banking on them having the other crystal.

Mercifully, his crystal seemed to be responding; he was nearing a bar when, to his shock, he saw a bouncer roughly shoving Shaggy out the front door of the establishment. Shaggy turned around to face him.

“It’s like I told you; we were just looking—”

“No under-21s allowed!” the bouncer snarled at Shaggy. He glanced behind him, and Daphne now sidled out the front door; the bouncer was (thankfully) far less willing to lay hands on her, but he was giving his most intimidating glare to get her moving.

“Look, we’re members of the press!” Daphne was saying, showing her press badge. “We didn’t come here to drink; we only wanted to look—”

“I don’t care!” the bouncer retorted. “Come back when you’re 21!”

“But I’m 20!” Shaggy pointed out.

“Close, but no cigar, Kid!”

The bouncer then went back inside, closing the door behind him.

“Like, now what!?” Shaggy asked Daphne.

“We’ve been thrown out of every bar we’ve looked in so far,” Daphne sighed, looking around, nervously. “I guess there’s nothing left for us to do but keep trying. Come on.”

She moved to head down the street, and, with a sigh, Shaggy moved to follow her, but Vincent now managed to catch up to them from behind, grabbing each of them by a shoulder.

Shaggy let out a yelp of alarm, and Daphne screamed, but their fear turned to relief as they turned around and realized who it was.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Daphne exclaimed.

She missed Vincent’s look of extreme disapproval in the streetlight, and, to his surprise, she suddenly hugged him. He froze for a moment, not knowing how to react again, and was momentarily thrown off as a result.

“Like wow, Mr. V, are we glad to see you!” Shaggy said.

“We’ll see about _that_ …” Vincent scowled, now regaining his poise.

Daphne now sensed the displeasure in his voice and let go of him immediately, stepping back with a stunned expression; Shaggy’s relieved smile had also vanished.

Vincent knew that the street was no place to chide them, and, more than that, he knew that Voudini needed a place to recover, and not be stuck with looking after the other three. He’d deal with one thing at a time, however.

In an instant, he had teleported himself, Shaggy, and Daphne to the corridor of his castle’s turret and now, once again, cast a disapproving look upon the both of them.

“What did you think you were _doing_!?” he queried. “I realize you may have gotten caught up in the hoopla of Mardi Gras, but it was utterly irresponsible of the two of you youngsters to go traipsing around Bourbon Street at _that_ hour of the night, when you don’t have mana to protect yourselves, to say nothing of running off and leaving the other three in the care of poor Voudini, who is in no shape to be suddenly stuck with that responsibility!”

“Hoopla?” Shaggy repeated, utterly confused. “Ohhh! No, we weren’t—”

Daphne suddenly nudged him to keep him quiet and turned back to Vincent.

“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Van Ghoul,” she said. “We were really out of line; I don’t know what came over us. I guess we were just really wired again and had to blow off some steam.”

“Wha—!?” Shaggy began, staring at her, but Daphne nudged him again.

And Vincent still stood there, frowning.

“I have to admit, I am… _very_ disappointed,” he said. “I expected better from the both of you—especially you, Daphne.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Van Ghoul. But I promise, it won’t happen again,” she said, looking down and avoiding eye contact with him. “Right, Shaggy?”

“But—”

“ _Right, Shaggy_?” Daphne asked again, an edge to her voice.

Shaggy just sighed, realizing that he didn’t have a say in the matter.

“Right…” he conceded. “I’m sorry, too, Mr. V.”

If Vincent had been at the top of his game, he’d have realized that Shaggy and Daphne were covering up something—but he wasn’t, and so, he didn’t.

“Hmph. Well… I need to get the others, and then I need to make sure Voudini is in safe hands. In the meantime, you two stay right here in your rooms.”

With that, he had teleported again.

“How do you like that?” Shaggy said, in disbelief, once he had gone. “We spend a day and half the night saving a warlock from getting his mana drained, spend the second half of the night looking for him, and then, after we find him… he grounds us?”

“Looks that way,” Daphne said, her expression unreadable.

Shaggy frowned at her now.

“Well, maybe he _wouldn’t_ have grounded us if you had just let me explain that we weren’t gallivanting around Mardi Gras like he thought! Why didn’t you want him to know that we were looking for him!?”

“I have my reasons,” Daphne said, a slight quiver evident in her voice.

“Well, can you fill me in, since I’m the one sharing this fate along with you? …Actually, it’s probably worse for me—like, after all the progress we’ve made since this whole thing started, we’ve gone all the way back, and now he probably thinks I’m a half-wit who does things without thinking all over again, just like he did when Scoob and I opened the Chest!”

“Will you stop thinking about yourself and your reputation for just one moment?” Daphne asked, looking him right in the eyes.

“…Huh…?”

“Just take a step back and think for a minute about everything that Mr. Van Ghoul has been through in these last 24 hours!” Daphne said, her voice cracking now. She held up her hand. “Five seconds, Shaggy. If Nekara had kissed him just _five seconds_ earlier than she had, we would have lost him. And it wasn’t just his close call, either; it was _everything_ she put him through—getting all handsy with him and then forcing that kiss on him just after midnight…”

“…I get it,” Shaggy now realized. “If Mr. V is focused on us and how ‘reckless’ we were to be wandering around Bourbon Street at night, he won’t be thinking about Nekara and what she did to him.”

“Exactly,” Daphne sighed, wiping a tear that had slipped out of her eye. “I _know_ it hurts to see him lose his faith in us—when he said he was disappointed in us and expected better, it hit me like a gutpunch, and I’m sure it did to you, too. And yes, we probably _have_ set ourselves back with him, and he probably won’t see us the same way for a while. Maybe, in time, we can restore his faith and trust in us. But, even if we can’t… I’d rather accept that than have him relive everything that Nekara did.”

“Yeah…” Shaggy sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, hopefully, Mr. V will only ground us for a day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today’s Valentine’s Day—that means that tomorrow, all that leftover candy is going to be sold at discount prices, and I want to be able to stock up on it!”

“… _Shaggy_ —”

“You’re right,” Shaggy said, wincing as he realized how shallow he’d sounded. “That’s not important, either.”

“Right,” Daphne said. “We really have to keep Mr. Van Ghoul’s mind off of what happened. She’s sure to have left magical scars somehow. Curses and spells seem to have that ability—even when they break, the one who cast it still has left a mark on you, and the more you dwell on it, the more it comes back to haunt you.”

“Yeah, that makes sense…” Shaggy began, but he trailed off as Daphne’s words sunk in, and he glanced at her. “How would you know that…?” She glanced at him, and Shaggy quickly put the pieces together without needing an explanation. “…Maldor?”

She responded with a shaky nod.

“He didn’t just put me to sleep,” she admitted. “He stuck me in a nightmare—I’m in this pitch-black dungeon maze, and every monster we ever faced is there, chasing me—the Black Knight, the Ghost Clown, the Space Kook, the Mummy of Ankha, the Creeper, Mr. Hyde, Zen Tuo, Mamba Wamba… all of them, a new one popping out of every corner I try to turn to. Only this time, they’re all _real_ , and Maldor himself is leading them, laughing at me, taunting that, thanks to him, I’ll never know peace again…” She glanced at her hands. “That’s when I start turning into a werewolf again—it’s like Maldor went through my memories and was bringing back all of the terrible ones and making me relive them… All I can do is run as I’m turning into this terrible _thing_ , just like all of the monsters chasing me, and I’m _terrified_ of what will happen if they catch me…”

“Daphne…”

“I’ve noticed, the days I think about Maldor and what he did are the nights I get that nightmare again,” she continued. “And that’s why… I don’t want Mr. Van Ghoul going through that with Nekara, too.”

“But, why didn’t you mention this before!?” Shaggy asked. “Especially to Mr. V—I’m sure he could whip up a counterspell or a potion or something to stop it! You don’t have to suffer like that!”

“Oh, I’ve got it under control now,” Daphne assured him. “I’ve… sort of… trained myself to wake up the moment I realize I’m having that nightmare again. There’s no need to bother Mr. Van Ghoul with something so trivial. It’s just not important compared to the things he has to deal with, I’m sure.”

“Like, I wouldn’t call sleepless nights trivial,” Shaggy said, flatly. “I really think you oughta tell him, Daphne.”

“Well, not right now— _that’s_ for sure,” she said. “Not when we’re trying to keep his mind off of Nekara and when he’s… got a lower opinion of us now. Honestly, I hate the idea of bothering him for anything on a good day, especially when he’s done so much for us already, but I’m _definitely_ not going to do that when we’re trying to get back into his good books. Really, like I told you, it’s not even that big a deal anymore—I’m handling it.” She gave a wan smile. “I don’t need to go back to being that shallow girl I was back in high school, fretting about unimportant things.”

“Shallow!? You were never shallow!”

“Come on, Shaggy. Remember the Ghost of Redbeard? He cut our motorboat in two, we were separated, sinking, and floundering in the water, and what was my biggest concern? …My _hair_ getting wet. And that wasn’t an isolated incident, either.” She looked at him again. “How come you or the others never told me to shape up and get over myself?”

Shaggy responded with a wan smile of his own.

“It just wasn’t important compared to the things we were dealing with,” he said, returning her earlier words to her. “And I still say you weren’t shallow—we were younger and dumber and had our priorities skewed, that’s all. …Mine still are—after everything that happened these past 24 hours, I was still thinking about discounted Valentine’s candy a little while ago?”

“Exhaustion is also good at skewing your priorities,” Daphne said, with a reassuring smile. “But, since you brought it up…” She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You, too,” Shaggy sighed, returning the gesture. “…And I still say you oughta tell Mr. V about the nightmares; maybe you think it’s unimportant, but I don’t see it that way—and I’m pretty sure Mr. V would agree.”

“I will,” she said. “Just… not now.”

“That’s fair,” Shaggy admitted. “Well, guess we’d better get to our rooms before dear ol’ Dad finds out that we’re violating the grounding.” He paused. “…He _does_ know we’re both over 18 and technically independent, right?”

“I guess when you’re 2000 years old, 19 and 20 are still ‘kids,’” Daphne mused, recalling how Vincent had addressed them as such yesterday, before things had gone south. “But, you’re right—let’s not get into any deeper hot water now.”

Shaggy nodded and headed to his room, and Daphne headed to hers. She closed the door and leaned against it, suppressing a few sobs that threatened to break free as she dropped the façade and allowed a few more tears to slip from her eyes. She’d done a good job so far of bottling up all of her fears and stresses all this time, but nearly losing Vincent had the dam threatening to burst. She probably wouldn’t have admitted to Shaggy about the nightmares had she not desperately needed an outlet, but she was confident that he wouldn’t tell Vincent about them on his own; though, he probably would keep insisting she do so until she finally did.

She couldn’t, of course. Vincent may be the most powerful warlock in the world, but that didn’t mean they had the right to impose anything upon him—not when he’d done so much for them already, like giving them these luxurious rooms. And, anyway, as she’d told Shaggy, the nightmares were manageable now; there was no need to bother Vincent with such trifles. …And that didn’t take into account whether or not she and Shaggy could even restore that lost faith. But, as she’d said, she’d gladly accept the blame for something she didn’t do if it meant that it would distract Vincent from those memories.

********************************

Voudini gave a slight start as Vincent teleported back into the hotel room.

“Did you find them?” he asked.

“Yes,” Vincent said. “Bar-hopping, by the looks of it—or trying to; they weren’t granted admittance, thank the Goddess…”

“Vincent, they weren’t—”

“One moment…” Vincent instructed. He glanced at Flim-Flam and the dogs, still asleep, and he concentrated with the crystal, teleporting each of them back into their beds at the castle. They’d be confused upon awakening, no doubt, as to how and why they were suddenly back there, but he would deal with that explanation later.

Another instant later, Vincent had teleported himself and Voudini back to Befuddle Manor; Byron was there with his equally-worried Shadow Demon, both of them wringing their hands in nervousness and not surprised at all to see Vincent and Voudini arrived—clearly, someone from the Order had filled them in.

“Oh, dear…” Byron sighed, seeing Voudini’s state. “It’s true, then…?”

“I’m afraid so,” Vincent said, lowering his gaze. “My deepest regret is that I wasn’t able to prevent—”

“Vincent, whether you had been there at the meeting or not, she would have done this to me,” Voudini insisted. “And, if nothing else, you managed to keep her from draining anyone else in the Order—once again, at a great personal cost.”

“I suppose…” Vincent sighed. “At any rate, I am sorry I wasn’t able to stop Shaggy and Daphne from sticking you with looking after the others while they went and had their fun.”

“That doesn’t sound like them at all…” Byron said, surprised.

“I know, that’s what stunned me, too,” Vincent agreed. “I expected better from them—I even told them as much.”

“Vincent, you didn’t…” Voudini groaned, facepalming.

“Well, what was I supposed to do…?” Vincent began, but he trailed off at the look on Voudini’s face. “What? What’s that look for?”

“Because you, obviously, cannot see the forest for the trees,” Voudini replied. “You were so wrapped up in your worries once you heard that they were wandering around Bourbon Street that you neglected to step back and consider _why_ they were there in the first place.”

“I told you—I found the two of them trying to bar-hop—”

“Vincent, _you_ were the one pub-crawling; _they_ were looking for _you_ ,” Voudini informed him.

“I was not…” Vincent trailed off. Well, there was a two-hour gap in his memories after that last toast… “…But they _admitted_ to me that they were out celebrating! Just now, when I took them back to the castle—they admitted it and apologized!”

Voudini stared back in confusion, glanced at Byron for a moment, and looked back at Vincent once more.

“Vincent, after you gave me the mana transfer to sustain me, I lost track of you when the others whisked you off to celebrate,” Voudini said. “I went back to your hotel room to wait for you, and all five of them were there—little Flim-Flam and the dogs sound asleep on the bed, and Shaggy and Daphne pacing the room. They asked me if I knew where you were, and I explained to them that you and the rest of the Order were drinking to your success. I suggested that they try to intercept you around Bourbon Street—they were only there because I asked them to go, and they went without question. And _that_ is the truth.”

Vincent could only stare. It didn’t make sense… or did it? Shaggy had been utterly confused when Daphne had insisted that they had been out celebrating, and Daphne had pretty much forced him to go along with that story…

“But why…?” Vincent asked, unable to comprehend it. “Why would they lie to me…? They weren’t even lying to make themselves look better; they were lying to make themselves look _worse_!”

“Why, indeed?” Byron said, quietly.

“Vincent, I hope you didn’t admonish them too much…” Voudini said.

Vincent just groaned.

“I… might have gotten a bit sharp with them,” he admitted.

“…And, what now, then?” Voudini asked.

“…I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, you do,” Byron agreed. “I’ll look after Voudini. You look after them. But, just one thing…” He walked over to Vincent, holding out his hand in front of him. “ _Esuna_.”

The healing spell was immediate; Vincent shook off the last of the mental cobwebs as his headache vanished.

“…Thank you,” he said, sounding rather subdued. “Keep me updated on everything.”

“Of course,” Bryon promised, as Vincent teleported out. He then sighed and turned to Voudini. “Well, what do you think?”

“He _still_ can’t see the forest for the trees,” Voudini said, flatly. “You know why those two youngsters lied to him, of course?”

“Of course,” Bryon sighed. “They saw an opportunity to get his mind off of Nekara. And they were willing to allow Vincent to lose his faith in them to do so.”

“Yes, despite the fact that their intervention saved him,” Voudini said. “Those youngsters care about him dearly—all five of them; and he doesn’t even _realize_ it!”

“At least Vincent realizes that _he_ cares about _them_ —even if he won’t admit it outright; why else would he have gotten so distressed at the thought of those two wandering Bourbon Street at night?” Bryon said. “That counts for something.”

“It does,” Voudini agreed. “But he will still try to keep them at an arm’s length, thinking that any kindness they show him is merely basic courtesy and respect demanded by a warlock. Unless Vincent realizes that those five mortals do, indeed, love him and want to help him because of that, and _not_ just because they feel obligated to, they will eventually give up on their efforts and drift away from him.”

“Do you really think so?” Bryon asked.

Voudini gave him a look.

“You gave up like all the others when he shut us out 300 years ago. You saw the futility in trying to reach him. So did Boris. So did Miranda and Alisa. I was the only one who persisted, and that is why I was the only one to remain in touch with him through his exile. With my mana gone, I cannot do that anymore. Those youngsters have worked wonders, but even they will see the futility if they think that they cannot reach him. I expect Shaggy and Daphne have already resigned themselves somewhat to that after this—why else were they willing to allow Vincent to lose his faith in them? They’re only mortals, Byron; they don’t have the time to be pursuing wasted efforts, and they know it. Unless they are even _more_ selfless and devoted than they appear—in which case, that would surprise even me.”

“Perhaps they might,” Byron said. He regretted not trying to persist, but after so many attempts at contacting Vincent with no response, he’d had no choice but to give up. Voudini had always been far more stubborn; really, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he had kept trying…

“Then, by the grace of the Goddess, may it be so,” Voudini finished.

********************************

Vincent was now back in the corridor of the turret; with his mind now clear thanks to the healing spell, it was so painfully obvious that Daphne had gone along with it when Vincent had accused them of being out with the Mardi Gras revelers. Looking back, both she and Shaggy had been so nervous and scared on Bourbon Street—they’d known full well that it was no place for them, and when Vincent had grabbed them by the shoulders, they had both reacted in utter fright before realizing it was him.

But that still didn’t explain why they’d gone along with accepting a chiding that they didn’t deserve.

He knocked on Shaggy’s door first, and then on Daphne’s; they both opened their doors, looking at him sheepishly—and Daphne looked as though she’d taken her mascara off, for some reason.

Vincent glanced at the both of them and gave a quiet sigh.

“Follow me—please,” he added.

They exchanged glances, taking note that he had lost his bluster completely, and they both proceeded to follow him to the study in the east wing. He sat in his armchair by his crystal-gazing table, and indicated for the two of them to sit in the other chairs. They did so; Shaggy was looking at him questioningly, and Daphne was looking blankly at the tabletop, once again avoiding Vincent’s gaze.

“…Voudini told me what really happened,” Vincent said, after a moment. “You weren’t celebrating; you were looking for me.”

“He’s just trying to make us look good,” Daphne bluffed. “I think he’s taken a liking to us and didn’t want you to be mad at us.”

Vincent shut his eyes for a moment.

“Are you trying to insult my intelligence?” he asked, quietly.

“No, I would never!” she exclaimed, looking horrified now.

“Me neither!” Shaggy promised.

“Then please stop this,” Vincent continued, his voice still calm. “And tell me the truth.”

“…Well, you already know it now,” she said, sighing in defeat.

“All except for one thing—what was the point of that whole charade earlier? Why on Earth would you want me to go on believing that you and Shaggy were irresponsible? What could the two of you possibly gain from that?”

Daphne was still staring at the tabletop.

“…I can’t tell you,” she said, after a moment.

“You can’t?” Vincent asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked to Shaggy. “And what about you—can you tell me?”

“I… don’t think so, no…” Shaggy admitted.

“…I see,” Vincent replied. “Well… there isn’t really much else to discuss about that, then, other than that I would like to sincerely apologize to the both of you for jumping to conclusions in the first place. When I heard that the two of you were wandering around Bourbon Street, well… All I could think about was finding you before something happened. But I should have let you both explain what you were doing—again, I apologize.”

Daphne finally looked up at him in surprise as he spoke; Shaggy looked to him in amazement, as well.

“You don’t have to apologize to us!” Daphne exclaimed.

“Yeah, like, after everything you’ve been through— _hey_!” Shaggy yelped, as Daphne gave his foot a slight kick under the table. Shaggy then winced as he realized his goof, and now, finally, everything made sense to Vincent.

“…So _that’s_ it,” he realized aloud, prompting Daphne to sigh again as she admitted a second defeat. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts again now that he knew the full story. “Well… it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you were trying to do. What happened to me was highly unpleasant, yes, but I do consider myself resilient. I’m not made of glass, you know; it will take more than Nekara’s efforts to break me—I can assure you both of that. I _will_ be fine; however… it might not have ended that way had it not been for your selfless interventions, and, for that, I am grateful. …I believe it’s _my_ turn to finally say, ‘I owe you one.’”

And Daphne finally smiled now.

“I thought you said we had no debts with each other?” she asked.

“Daphne’s right,” Shaggy agreed. “You can’t put any kind of a cost on something like this!”

“…Very true,” Vincent admitted, managing a smile, as well. “But do accept my sincerest thanks, at the very least.”

“Of course we do,” Daphne promised. She looked away for a moment, trying to gather her emotions before she looked back. “I’m just so glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, same here,” Shaggy said, with a nod. “It’s good to have you back, Mr. V.”

“It’s good to be back,” Vincent assured them.

They lapsed into silence, but didn’t move from the table—and they found that they didn’t need to say anything; after everything after the past 24 hours, they were able to draw comfort from each other’s presence without a word.

Eventually, Scooby, Scrappy, and Flim-Flam joined them, and then they all spoke again, determined to help put each other at ease, and Vincent now did what he should have done at midnight—celebrate their victory with _them_ instead of those other warlocks.

After all, where would he have been without them?

He pushed the thought aside; after all, some questions were better left unanswered.


End file.
